All Nations, Cultures, Races
by Tamer Lorika
Summary: A quick one-shot involving the Italies, Spain, Poland, and Liet, and their weekly ritual - hoping in the only way that they can for a brighter future. Note, I'm only familiar with American masses, so I don't know about Italian ones...


This week was Romano's turn.

Instead of taking them to the Vatican, he always insisted on bringing them to smaller churches around Rome, which he said were "equally beautiful, but no one ever seems to give a crap – fucking tourists…"

So today, the group was gathered outside a small, nameless chapel off a cobblestone piazza, waiting for their last member to arrive.

"Where the fuck is he?" cursed Romano, stomping around in the pre-dawn air and kicking at the small fountain in the middle of the deserted piazza.

"Aww, Lovi, hon, calm down!" squealed Antonio, hugging the man tightly. "We all live much closer than Feliks does. Be patient."

"Ve~~~, Spain-nii is right," admonished Feliciano sleepily, joining in the hug-fest. His eyes were barely open but he managed to glom onto the irate Romano. "Be nice! He's our friend, too. "

"The little girl probably overslept," muttered the older Italy brother.

"Mmm," yawned Feliciano, snuggling closer to his fratello. "You're fault for making us come to a five-thirty mass."If it were up to him, they would be going to a noon mass. If it were up to Poland, it would probably be the five-pm one.

Romano turned colors, ready to explode at the unwanted contact and the accusation, but he did not say a word. It was too early, and as much as he wanted to blow up at his brother, he was afraid of disrupting his people. And his people came before everything – no matter how hard it was to remember that.

"Oh, my gosh you guys, _hi!_" the voice ricocheted across the cobbles. Romano groaned, and Feli, at least, let go of him and ran over to tackle-hug the grinning blonde. Apparently, his sleepiness was forgotten.

"Feeeeliks!" yelled Feliciano. "You're here! I thought you wouldn't be here but I was hoping you would be and wow, you brought Toris, too!"

Sure enough, half-hidden behind Poland, gripping his hand tightly, was a slightly-touseled Toris. He grinned sheepishly. "Feliks said I could come along; I hope that's alright?"

Antonio also came over to greet him. "Of course! Everyone is welcome."

"Come on!" yelled Romano (quietly) from by the entrance to the chapel. "The service is about to start."

And one by one they filed into the church, and the exuberance of the morning faded into red-brown lighting and incense and women's white-lace veils. The five sat in the back of the church, pulling down the kneelers and bowing their heads. Toris took a sidelong glance at Feliks before following his lead. It was not as if he was a stranger to Catholicism; it had just been a long time…

The service began shortly, in Latin, and Toris simply let the words wash around him. It was beautiful, and reminded him of the reason he had first turned to the church. The feeling of a higher power, controlling their every move, was strangely comforting in a world where he was the one responsible for – for everything. For once, he believed someone was looking out for_ him_.

Feliks couldn't understand the Latin, either, but Toris was surprised at the unusual look of focus and even beatific joy on his face. Only at church did he truly relax. He had even put on pants.

Spain had trouble understanding the service as well, but he tried his best to convert what little Latin he knew into something understandable. Beside him, Romano had his eyes tightly closed and his hands clasped, and Feliciano mimicked him, albeit less passionately. The silence, broken only by the slow intonation of the priest, brought a moment of quiet to their hectic world.

The readings went by quickly, and all were able to join in the "Alleluia", and the priest began the homily. The Latin was too fast even for Antonio, and he left off and joined Toris and Feliks into the quiet reflection they had slipped into. Until he felt Romano stiffen beside him. He opened one eye, to stare at the nation beside him.

"Lovi?" he whispered, barely audible. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, bas- I mean, no." The Italian checked his swearing just in time. He would not swear in a church.

He might have _said_ no, but his body language was telling a different story. Romano's back was ramrod-straight, his hands clenched into fists on his khaki dress-slacks, his jaw snapped shut.

Antonio frowned and tried to pay more attention to the homily. It was going fast, but he managed to pick out a few words. "Marriage" – well, that wasn't so bad, why was Lovi- "Only…. Man and woman… abomination…"

Oh.

Despite himself, Antonio stiffened as well, but he quickly forced himself to relax. "Lovi, it's okay, don't –"

"Its fine, I know, it's not the first time…" Romano mumbled acidly.

Toris looked over at the two, on the other end of the pews, worry on his face. _Everything okay?_ he mouthed. Spain nodded, forcing a smile, and turned back to Romano.

"Lord, grant me the strength to accept the things I cannot change," he whispered in the younger nation's ear, "The courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to _know the difference_."

Romano sighed and nodded, and Antonio repeated the prayer over and over until the homily was (blessedly) over. Only then did the two look over to Feliciano, to see if he had been similarly affected. His eyes were closed as if in prayer, but he was… asleep… Poland noticed, too, and poked him in the side.

"Vee?" asked Feliciano, a snatch too loudly, and Poland quickly clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shush and pay attention!" mumbled Romano.

Feliciano flushed, embarrassed, and they rose for the Apostle's Creed, each repeating it in their native language. The same was true for the Our Father, and even though the rest of the early-morning congregations committed to propriety and did not hold hands, in the back, all five nations held onto each other tightly. Toris felt his hand gripped by Feliks and gasped quietly as he felt the _intensity_ of the touch and the prayer.

_Thy will be done…_

"Peace be with you," intoned the priest finally.

"And also with you," the church returned.

What followed was a bit of a scuffle. Romano tried to hold out his hand to Antonio, as if by some miracle he would just take a bow or a hand-shake and be done with it, but Antonio swept him into a hug, which bowled them both into Feliciano. Romano was trying not to cuss, but having a hard time of it, and Feliciano stumbled into Feliks, who caught him and grabbed Toris at the same time and folded them all into a wicked group-hug.

"Peace be with you!" they said at the same time, varying enthusiasm but all truly meaning it. Toris followed a beat behind, but no one noticed, only squeezed one more time before releasing, ready to chant "Angus Dei, dona nobis pacem…" with the rest of the church.

The rest of the mass passed in a blur, Toris receiving only a blessing instead of Eucharist (he had not been in a very, very long time…), and quickly the service was over.

The nations waited until the priest and most of the congregation had filed out, before moving. Toris had assumed they would be out the door and gone by now, but instead Feliks lead him to the altar, the rest moving behind them. Feliks and the others knelt, and Toris knelt with them, and they gripped hands again.

Then Antonio spoke.

"Dio, thank you for allowing us to come together today in your presence, and thank you for bringing us a new friend to celebrate with." He opened his eyes and winked at Toris. "We ask you to protect our friends and family, and to protect the intentions we all have hidden in our hearts." There was a moment of silence, each nation left to his own thoughts, offering up fears and worries. Toris prayed for Feliks, for his brothers, for America and for Russia, for good weather and fine crops, for a break in the economic crisis. Then Antonio spoke again.

"We thank you for your continued generosity and we ask you to hear the prayer we offer to you constantly."

And then Romano, Feliciano, and Feliks joined in, as if this were something they knew by heart – and they did, having prayed this every week for many years, in varying countries and churches and settings but always, always with the same fervor:

_For every creed and race and culture and nation_

_ For every people and every country_

_ Let us all resolve our differences_

_ Let us all be one world, one body in you and in peace. We ask you only this:_

_ Grant us world peace. Amen._

And then it was over. The spell had been broken, and Feliciano hopped up, dragging Feliks with him, and Romano stood with Antonio at his side and all filed out, leaving their prayers to be answered or not. Toris followed them, listening to Feliciano's chorus of "Breakfast, breakfast, pasta for breakfast!" and trying to make sense of what he had seen.

Antonio came up beside him.

"What are you thinking about, amigo?" he asked.

"Nothing. I just… that was beautiful. You do that every week?"

"Si. For years. Perhaps it will one day do some good." Antonio smiled.

"I hope so. I'm sorry – I feel like I'm intruding on something. You have it down to a ritual."

"No, no!" laughed Antonio into the orange-sunrise morning. "You are not intruding! This is what we want! This is what we are praying for! I know you are not a strictly Catholic country like we are, but if you could be persuaded to set down problems and fights for just this one hour to pray for world peace – well, maybe it is achievable after all."

Toris smiled at the thought. Maybe it _was_ possible. "May I come back next week?" he asked, shyly.

"Of course! And bring friends!" Antonio laughed.

"Come _on_ you slowpokes!" yelled Poland from up the street. "I'm, like, totally starving."

Toris smiled and ran to catch up as the day began in Rome.


End file.
